“Have I not done what you really brought me to do? I let you use my body to find relief from the terrible need that your power forces on you. I have done your bidding and now I want to return to Sigurd.” Her voice rose and he heard a brittleness in it that said she was near to breaking.
“You want to return to the man who uses you to rid himself of his enemies? To the man who will kill my friend to raise himself in the king’s regard?” he asked, going to the door of his bedchamber and leaning against the wall to watch her. She had not moved from her seat at the table and he noticed her fingers clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white with effort.
“Mayhap I was mistaken about that.” Her eyes darted to him and away as he watched her try to come up with some explanation for her lapse. “I am only a woman. He does not share his business with me.”
Her denial did not work. Though Sigurd would not have shared such important details with her, Duncan had no doubt Isabel—strong, reliant, intelligent Isabel—listened well and put the pieces together.
Whether it was the Healer pushing forward or him simply understanding her better, he felt her terror and the pain within her. In that moment, he remembered part of the ritual when the power flowed through him. Isabel watched from her hiding place but the Healer knew she was there and called to her. She’d held the damage so deep within her soul that to release it would be the end of her. Walling it up had protected her and allowed her to survive the horror of her life.
He must stop probing. He must allow her her defenses. If his plans to neutralize Sigurd did not work, she would have to face the man . . . alone. If he showed her the truth, too much truth at one time, it would leave her worse than he’d found her.
Duncan stood away from the door and nodded. “You are right, Isabel. You are his pawn, one of his many pawns, and he would not confide his plans to you.”
Though she wanted to believe his acceptance of her denial, a flicker of doubt darkened the green of her eyes. Her fear pushed the questions from her thoughts and she nodded back.
“You must be tired from standing out there so long. I am ready for bed. Join me?” He held his hand out to her.
She gave him a smile, the placating one she used too often, and shook her head. “I am too restless to sleep. I have some sewing to do, unless you have need of me?” The whore was back.
“Sew then, sleep when you are ready.”
Though he expected his own racing thoughts to keep him awake, Duncan fell asleep quickly. Sometime later he woke to the pleasurable feel of her mouth on his cock, urging it to life. He stretched his body, pushing further into her mouth as his flesh responded to her practiced touch. However, once he was fully awake, he recognized her frantic movements and knew it was not about pleasure—it was about assuaging the terrible fear that grew inside her.
She massaged the sac under his erect flesh and suckled the length of his cock, her expert mouth and tongue dragging him toward release. He tried to touch her but she shifted on her knees, moving just out of his reach. The whore had joined him in his bed, not the woman. And she would not stop. So Duncan offered her the only thing he could to help her.
Oblivion.
He closed his eyes and let the scent pour over her, hoping to give her a short time of mindless bliss instead of the pain the questions had caused, sending her into the frenzy of seeking sex to mask it.
She lifted her mouth from his flesh and met his gaze, understanding what he was doing. Closing her eyes, Isabel inhaled deeply of the scent, allowing it to take control of her. Her eyes, when she opened them, were vague, with no color present. She inhaled again and smiled at him. Without a word, she returned to his cock, allowing him to touch her.
And he did, making certain to give her release before he allowed his seed to spill.
Duncan lay awake for hours after, searching through his mind for solutions to the many problems facing him. Her words, spoken in hushed tones, surprised him. He had thought her sound asleep in his arms.
“His name was Olaf,” she whispered into the darkness.
Duncan gathered her closer, letting his touch reassure her that he could hear her truth.
“Olaf’s father was a powerful chieftain from the outer isles and he sent him to Sigurd as part of their agreement. I was given to him for the time he stayed on Skye.”
Before Sigurd moved his sights on Duntulm, Davin’s seat, Duncan knew.
“I foolishly fancied myself in love with him and he assured me he felt the same way. When his father summoned him back, he asked me to go with him. I loved him—how could I refuse?”
Duncan let her speak without interrupting her, sensing she needed to prick the boil festering inside her soul. He felt her warm tears pooling on his chest as she continued.
“Sigurd discovered our plan and sent him home. Then he taught me the folly of trying to be something other than I am.”
Damn him, but Duncan had to know. “What did he do?”
“He had my leg broken to prove his point about love not being part of the game. He said a whore did not need to walk and swore to break the other if I tried it again. He brought men to my cottage to use me there just to prove his point. A broken and splinted leg did not seem to matter to them as they took their pleasure on me.”
Silence covered them as Duncan tried to calm his rage after hearing her words. His heart pounded in his chest, so she must know how it affected him. Her hand caressed him, as though seeking to offer him comfort. But the worst was yet to come, as he found out when she spoke once more.
“Olaf never reached his father. The story was put out that his boat sank during a storm in the Minch, but I know the truth of it. Sigurd described his death to me in great detail while Godrod saw to my leg.”
Broke her leg.
Duncan fought to remain still and hold her as she told him the truth he’d demanded and now wished he had not. How could she endure such things and be willing to return to that life? The real truth lay unsaid between them. Her real reason for staying in Sigurd’s grasp remained an unspoken thing.
She would never reveal it to him. Never ask for his help, because she’d seen Sigurd’s power over and over again, leaving her with no way out and no one to turn to without risking their death also.
A funny thing happens when you know your own death is impending, and there is no way to prevent it—it makes you want to do foolish things. The Healer within urged him to follow a certain path and Duncan understood it. His death would not be the meaningless end he’d thought, for he could find a way to make things right. For all Isabel had given him, he needed to do it. But would she cooperate with him and trust him to see it through?
“You stay to protect Thora.”
Isabel stiffened in his embrace, drawing in a shuddering breath and not speaking for some time. Would she deny the truth now that he had named it? Or could she trust him? His answer came in the bleak words she whispered.
“I would do anything to protect her. Anything.”
As he would do anything to protect the ones he loved.
Gunna. Harald. Ornolf. All the family he never had. He would do anything to keep them safe. Isabel was also part of that list and he would see her safe . . . and healed before he gave up his life to the power within him.
He gathered her closer and listened as her breathing evened and grew deeper until she finally slept. It came to him in the dark of the night and he rose carefully so as not to wake her, seeking out Ornolf to discuss the new plan of his.
To save Isabel he must save her sister first.
To save Thora, he must break Isabel’s heart.
To heal her broken heart and soul, he would give his life.
Love caused a man to do foolish things and he understood he was a man in love. Since he’d never expected to find it, Duncan savored the moment he realized he loved her. But he would not declare it to her for it would only add to her burdens. She bore too many already to bear another.
But he loved Isabel with every fiber of h
is being.
Seeing Ornolf off at dawn with his new instructions and knowing what must be accomplished in a short time, Duncan returned to his bed and to Isabel. He spent the day and the next night with her, never referring to anything she’d said and not asking any questions. He knew everything between them would soon change and understood she might well hate him.
He pretended he was a normal man with a woman he loved and who loved him—that all was well in his world. She might think she was the only one who could pretend, but he was a quick learner.
Isabel woke when he slipped back under the covers, his body warming hers as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She savored how safe she felt in his embrace. His soft snoring told her when he fell asleep, but she could not.
Too much had been revealed. So many rules had been broken over those last few weeks; rules that had taken so long and so much punishment to learn. He thought himself immune to Sigurd’s power, probably because of the Healer within him, but Duncan could die just as easily as Olaf had.
She slipped from the bed when she heard Gunna in the other room and went to help prepare their food. If anything had changed, she could not tell from the way the young woman greeted her and accepted her help. Keeping her voice down so she did not disturb Duncan, Isabel lost herself in the daily chores and did not think on anything more than that. Her gaze went to him when the door opened, wondering how things would be between them that morn.
She lost her breath at the intensity of his gaze.
His eyes burned but not with the fires of lust or desire. Something else shone there, something that warmed her, body and soul. Something she could not have. Turning away, she blinked back the tears and went to fill his bowl and cup. She placed them before him as he sat down without a word. She did not allow herself to look into his eyes again.
He did not let her walk away. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it and touching it to his cheek in a gesture so meaningful her tears threatened once more. The conversation around them faded away and in that moment she could almost believe they were living a life she’d never allowed herself to dream. She shook the thought away and returned to serving the others as they arrived to break their fast.
The meal was enjoyable. Talk about the day’s duties and the ongoing harvest of the fields surrounded them, but Isabel was aware of only Duncan. He touched her constantly—his hand on hers as they sat next to each other, his leg against hers when he shifted to allow Harald to sit on the other side of him, his arm around her waist and a soft kiss on her forehead when someone mentioned the laundry basket left in the yard. All of it felt perfect, as though such tenderness was a commonplace thing between a man and a whore.
But she’d awakened with a resolve to let the days flow as they would and to take whatever enjoyment she could from them, from him, for their time together would be over soon and she would need to take another man to her bed and into her body.
Duncan stood when the meal was done and told her he would wait outside for her to finish. Harald followed him out. Isabel helped with the dishes, then grabbed her cloak and sought him. Not knowing what to expect, she found him in a playful mood. He asked her to accompany him while he saw to things needing his attention and she went along.
He continued to hold her hand or keep her close all through the day. He held her in his arms when the sun hid behind clouds and the air cooled, and he stopped in the shadows to kiss the very breath from her. Though she felt the hardened bulge against her when he took her mouth, Duncan never sought more than a kiss from her. As they walked out to one of the farther fields, she was certain he would find a secluded place and seek pleasure, but he did not. Only after their evening meal was concluded and everyone sought their rest did he hold out his hand to her in an invitation to join with him.
Duncan turned to her several times during the night, each joining different from the others, each one emptying her and refilling her at the same time. Only when she could not move, exhausted by the depth of their pleasure, did he stop, seeming content to hold her then. Just as the first light of dawn rose in the sky, he spoke.
“If I can come to some agreement with Sigurd, will you stay with me through the next ritual? You have helped me much during this last one.”
She was surprised. She’d thought he would bring up other things.
He seemed to finally accept her true role and asked her to see to his pleasure as the moon grew to fullness. Could she remain with him for two more weeks?
“If Sigurd agrees,” she said with a nod, “I will stay and see to your needs. Aye.”
He rose from the bed then, gathering some clothes and dressing. She watched as he moved around the chamber, searching through his trunk for something. Leaning up on her elbows, she saw that he was packing.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, sliding from the warmth of the bed. “Should I pack my things?” She would have little use for the garments she’d worn there, for they would not suit Sigurd’s purposes. Looking around the chamber, she comprehended how little of her would be left behind when she returned to Duntulm.
“Lord Davin sent a message that he needs me in Duntulm. While I am there, I will bargain with Sigurd for a few more weeks,” he explained, never looking at her as he folded a shirt and stuffed it in the leather satchel. She wanted to ask him so many things, but did not want to disturb the truce they’d reached the last day or so.
“Very well,” she said. “When will you return?”
“Two days, three at most,” he answered. “You should rest, for when I return, it will be time.”
Time for his relentless need of her body. Time to be the vessel that eased the terrible growing power within him. Time to play the whore. If she told the truth, the insatiable hunger she would face was easier to deal with than his kindness and caring.
“As you wish.”
“I love to hear those words from your mouth. Remember them when I return,” he growled, stalking over to her, kissing her fiercely, then walking out.
Chapter Nineteen
Duntulm Keep
Sigurd climbed the stairs, angry at being summoned like a common servant, yet mollified that he was being received in Duncan’s private chambers. He reached the top floor of the tower and followed the man’s servant to the door. Godrod waited below, included in the summons, but left waiting until called above.
The servant paused and motioned for him to wait, knocking softly on the door and entering it quietly. A moment or two passed and the door swung open, allowing Sigurd entrance. After closing the door, the servant poured wine into a costly gold goblet and handed it to him. Only when he stepped away did Sigurd get a good look at the rest of the chamber.
’Twas fit for a king!
Luxurious fabrics and tapestries curtained the walls and covered the large bed in one corner. Carved furniture of a wood he’d never seen before filled the room. A huge table that could seat eight or ten on one side of the chamber, three cushioned chairs in addition to the stools around the table, even the headboard of the bed, were all made of the same material and embossed with gold. A large gold pitcher held the wine he’d been served, the quality of it surpassing any he’d tasted at Davin’s table.
But Sigurd was enough of a merchant and trader to recognize the ploy—the man was displaying his obvious wealth to set the stage for negotiating. Still, it was difficult not to be impressed with such a show.
“ ’Tis a wood found in the far east, brought back and given to me as a gift.” The words were spoken from behind him. Sigurd turned to face his host. “It is supposed to last for generations of use.”
Sigurd watched as the servant poured Duncan a cup of the same wine and served it to him. After refilling Sigurd’s cup, the servant bowed away and stood by the door. Though Sigurd still smarted from having to conduct the prior negotiations for the slut with the servant, clearly the new matter surpassed that in importance.
“My thanks for coming to meet with me, Sigurd,” Duncan said. “I
hope I have not inconvenienced you?”
“Nay, not at all,” he answered. “I am ever interested in hearing a business proposition that could benefit both of us.” That was what the summons had mentioned—a proposition that would be to their mutual benefit. He feared for a moment Isabel had failed him and disappointed this man. “Did she see to your needs?”
Duncan looked confused for a moment as though he could not remember her, then nodded. Taking a mouthful of the wine, he swallowed it and smiled. “She is quite talented.”
“And this new proposition?”
Duncan walked closer and slapped Sigurd on the shoulder, laughing. “So eager then? The promise of profit is appealing to you?”
Sigurd drank more of the wine and nodded.
“Very well,” Duncan said, “take a seat and be comfortable. Ornolf, food for our guest!”
Sigurd shook his head and waved off the servant as he sat in the proffered seat. “I thank you for your hospitality but I have eaten.” He did not want to waste time eating. He turned to his host. “About this business . . .”
“Ornolf, wait outside,” Duncan ordered.
He looked at Sigurd. “I will make this simple—you have a daughter I wish to marry.”
Sigurd choked at the declaration. “You wish to marry Isabel?”
Duncan laughed and shook his head. “The whore? I am no fool, Sigurd. I can pay for the whore when I need her. I want your real daughter to wife. Thora is her name?”
Of all the matters Sigurd had thought the man would discuss, marriage to Thora was not one of them. Why would he want her?
“I am presently in discussions with several for her hand in marriage,” Sigurd said, testing to learn Duncan’s true intent. “I could not accept any offer until—”
“I will double whatever they have offered.” Duncan scoffed at the notion of other suitors. “More than that, I offer you my friendship.”
A trick of the light, surely, Sigurd thought as the man’s eyes seemed to glow. “Your friendship?”
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